


Hallow's Warmth

by raisesomehale



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Coffee Shops, Derek Bakes, Derek gets his face painted like a cat, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Halloween, M/M, Pining, closet nerd!Derek, marshmallow roasting, stiles likes harry potter, the hale siblings are awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisesomehale/pseuds/raisesomehale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Cora own the little coffee shop downtown, Stiles is the regular and talkative client that Derek may or may not be infatuated with, and the cold weather is extremely inconvenient considering it dusts Stiles' cheeks with a rosy shade of red and causes his breath to frost over in white puffs whenever he laughs. </p><p>Pining and Halloweenie things ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallow's Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, two fics in one week? It must be Christmas. Or, well, Halloween.
> 
> I know this is a little late for Halloween, but I wrote this for the [Eternal Sterek Magazine](http://eternalmagazine.tumblr.com/)'s [Halloween issue](http://eternalmagazine.tumblr.com/post/65632956817/eternal-magazine-issue-01-halloween) and decided to post it here as well!
> 
> This was Beta'd by my fantastic friend [~Neda](http://nedafish.tumblr.com/)
> 
> -
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _This work was written and posted for my own, and the readers entertainment. Therefore I do **not** give anyone associated with Teen Wolf, (be it PR, production, the writers, the crew, the cast, press teams, etc.,) permission to extract excerpts from this story in order to be read aloud of shared publicly. I also do not give any third party websites, (be it Goodreads, ebooks-tree, etc.) permission to take what I have written and post it on their sites. Furthermore, I wish for my works to remain **only** where I have posted them, so they may be enjoyed and read amongst fans and no where else._

Derek hates Halloween.

 

Well, he hates _some_ of it.

 

It's not the cool breeze that follows Fall's arrival that he hates, not the sharp, particular _autumn_ smell that begins to linger in the air. Not that the days end sooner or that leaves begin to clutter the streets in dull oranges and soft yellows. He doesn't hate how the stores redecorate with black and orange, or that everything miraculously becomes pumpkin flavored.

 

No, what he hates is the rise in bodies huddling in through the cafe doors (" _Only you would be annoyed by good business_ ," Cora once said) and that, for some unknown reason, all the crazies come out once the cold starts setting in. He hates that he has to buy pounds of candy and that Cora forces him to put on extra layers they both know he doesn't need.

 

Most of all, he hates that the chill in the air causes one regular, particularly distracting customer's cheeks to blush a delectable shade of red.

 

Stiles has been coming in for months now. Derek only remembers the first time he stumbled in because of how wrecked to hell he had looked: Brown unkempt hair to match deep bags and bloodshot eyes.

 

His best friend, who had later introduced himself as Scott, was with him and explained it away with one word: "Exams."

 

Then he'd ordered their largest sized coffee - three added shots of espresso - and delivered it to Stiles with a consoling clap on the shoulder.

 

Stiles stayed until an hour before closing, not looking up from his laptop the entire time.

 

Derek doesn't even remember what his eye color was. 

 

Until he came sliding back in through the door the next week, looking fresh as a whistle with a soft smile and honey brown eyes that shot flutters through Derek's stomach.

 

“Hi," he'd said as he leaned against the counter, "I'm Stiles. Sorry about leaving your table in shambles last week, was kinda up on a tangent for, like,  _days_ _._ ”

 

Stiled has an unlawful amount of lick-able moles cascading across his jaw, cheeks, and neck. (Derek's accepted that there are probably more he hasn't accounted for, covering Stiles like splashes of brown paint on a white canvas.)

 

And, ok, he's definitely not repeating that simile out loud; Cora doesn't need any more reason to give him a hard time about Stiles. In fact, Derek has lost count of how many times she's teased him about Stiles.

 

Like when Derek had been allegedly staring at Stiles from behind the counter one day and she'd sauntered past whispering, “ _Take a picture, it'll be easier to rely on for your personal Der-Der time._ ” She'd slipped away before he could swat at her, cackling all the way. 

 

Stiles likes to wear loose beanies over his tousled hair. He's never not wearing his black rimmed glasses, and he often alternates between cardigans and blazers, depending on how much unjustified pain he's planning to inflict on Derek. He has more graphic t-shirts than most clothing stores, and wears ridiculous scarves - all of which have slightly outdone the previous one. 

 

The fact that Derek can't help but appreciate Stiles' ridiculous fashion sense probably makes him a masochist.

 

Then there are the times, like today, where he comes in wearing a black peacoat, his Gryffindor scarf wrapped a few times around his neck, and a pair of sinfully tight, dark blue skinny jeans.

 

Point: Derek has done nothing in his life to deserve this.

 

With the opening of the door brings a small 'ding' and a twirling gust of frost bitten air. The sky is a muted gray outside the wall of windows at the front of the shop, but somehow, even a lack of lighting accompanies Stiles in great taste. It's unfair, is what it is.

 

Stiles is holding the door open for an elderly woman while his eyes lift to meet Derek's from across the way. He beams, and Derek's heart thud-umps heavily.

 

His hands are clad in black gloves, and he rubs them together to create friction as he makes his way over to the counter. A flush from the cold is dusted over the apples of his cheeks.

 

“Hey, Derek,” he greets, perfect white teeth on full display. “How's my favorite Barista?” He smells like the cold and apple spice and deodorant. It shouldn't be as delectable as it really, _really_ is.

 

Derek raises an eyebrow to complete the look of _casual_ that he's desperately going for. "I've made twenty pumpkin spice lattes and it's barely nine."

 

Stiles' lips twitch. "That bad, huh?"

 

Derek grunts and turns to grab his order - because if he tries to talk to him while he's smiling like _that,_ and tilting his head at that _angle,_ he might say something stupid _,_ or recite sonnets about the construct of his _lips_.

 

Apparently, even after months of interacting, Derek still hasn't built up an immunity to Stiles. 

 

Derek grabs the Cinnamon Dolce Latte and sourdough bagel he set off to the side for Stiles. (Under the heater so it wouldn't get cold, and with a side of cream cheese like Stiles likes.) He'd put it together a few minutes before Stiles arrived, knowing his order and the usual time he comes in by heart.

 

He sets the food in front of him and rings it up with a few taps and dings. “That'll be seven fifty.”

 

Stiles gives him an incredulous look. Derek returns it with an expectant eyebrow raise.

 

“You know my _order_?”

 

Derek's cheeks heat hot and sudden. Yeah, he probably should've realized that already having Stiles' food ready and waiting isn't the most subtle thing he could've done.

 

As nonchalantly as he can, Derek says,  “You order the same thing every day."

 

And everyday, Stiles will take his order over to 'his' seat so he can get on his laptop. He'll take his time eating his bagel, peeling pieces off and dragging them through the cream cheese before popping them on his tongue. He won’t drink his latte until he's thrown the trash for the bagel away. 

 

“Yeah,” Stiles drawls, “But _Cora_ doesn't know my order. Do you Cora?”

 

Cora appears out of nowhere carrying a tub of dirty coffee mugs.

 

“Nope," she says, "but then, I don't really care enough to."  

 

Stiles' nose scrunches in an endearing way, and he sticks his tongue out at her as retribution. When she does it back, over exaggerating the expression, Stiles laughs delightedly.

 

Something in Derek's chest curls tight and fond at the display.

 

“Will you _please_ go grab some more creamer from the back, Der-Bear?" Cora rests a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, the other hand holding onto the tub resting against her hip. "A man came in and took ours after he was banned from Fry's."

 

Stiles mouths 'Der-Bear?'. Derek flips him off.

 

"How does one even get banned from a grocery store?"

 

Cora shrugs. "He kept eating whole tubes of whip cream in the produce isle, or so he said." 

 

She leaves to bus a few tables, and Derek straightens from where he'd unconsciously leaned toward Stiles on the counter.

 

"Duty calls," Stiles says, giving a mock salute . Derek rolls his eyes and slides away towards the back.

 

When he comes back out, a thing of creamer in each hand, Stiles is sitting in his usual seat, the appropriate amount of money left on the counter.

 

~○~

 

“Here,” Derek announces and places a banana nut muffin in front of Stiles.

 

Stiles looks from his school work to the pastry. “I didn't order this?” 

 

“You didn't order anything, actually,” Derek shrugs. There was no way he would've been able to get back to work knowing Stiles was sitting over here with his laptop, a tiny pinch in his brow, and most likely an empty stomach.

 

Stiles sighs and rubs his hands over his face, “Yeah, sorry, do you want-?” He motions to the muffin, “How many muffins will it cost me to monopolize this seat for the rest of the day? Possibly the rest of my under-grad existence?” 

 

“It's on the house," Derek says easily. He crosses his arms, Stiles' gaze flickers momentarily. “I wouldn’t want you to go into artificial sweetener withdrawals.”

 

Stiles leans his forearms on the table, eyes twinkling, “Artificial sweetener?”

 

“Your sugar intake is dangerously high,” Derek affirms with a solemn nod of his head.

 

Stiles' mouth widens in a half-way smile, before he's biting at his bottom lip and saying, “You have to at least let me pay you back.”

 

Derek shakes his head, “Don't worry about it,” and turns to walk back towards the counter.

 

Stiles is still working hours later, but the space between his eyebrows is relaxed, and he's wearing a genuine smile the entire time.

 

~○~

 

On one particularly busy day, Derek is manning the espresso machine and wondering how many shots he'd have to consume in order to die from heart failure. 

 

The suggestive winks and unsubtle way teenaged and middle aged customers keep brushing their fingers over his when he gives them their change is slowly driving him to insanity.

 

It says something about his life that seeing Stiles walk through the door with a toothy smile manages to settle his nerves.

 

He's wearing a black beanie to match his blazer, a white tee, and a pair of denim skinny jeans that hug his legs in exceptional ways.

 

Derek forces back some tears.

 

Stiles reaches the counter, slams his hands down, and comically puffs his chest out. “Come with me if you want to live,” he says in a faux Terminator voice, then makes a motion with his hand, “Or, you know, just escape the crowds of thirsty customers.”

 

It's a convincing argument... No. He can't. Cora would kill him if he just up and skipped out the door while holding hands with the boy he may or may not be infatuated with.

 

“Uh,” he offers intelligently, “I'm working.”

 

Stiles makes an exasperated motion with his head. “Really? I thought you just enjoyed standing behind that counter all day looking pretty.”

 

Ignoring the fact that Stiles just called him _pretty_ , Derek puts on an unimpressed frown.

 

“C'mon,” Stiles coaxes, grinning dopily, "I'm paying you back for the free muffins.”

 

From behind him, Cora groans loudly. "Just go, maybe they'll follow you if you leave.” She follows that command with an evil glare pointed towards the girls sitting at table six. He isn't sure what they did to her, but it's enough to convince Derek.

 

Stiles pumps his fists in the air. Derek grabs his coat.

 

~○~

 

The cold doesn't bother Derek much, in fact his leather jacket is more for show than anything else considering his body runs at a higher temperature than your average person.

 

That doesn't mean it isn't a total inconvenience to endure the cold _and_ Stiles at the same time. Derek didn't even know that a shivering body and a red tipped nose could be cute. _Cute_. And seeing Stiles' breath frost over in white puffs as he laughs or speaks in run on sentence shouldn't be as alluring as it truly is. 

 

"C'mon," Stiles announces suddenly, "Lets beat the line." He grabs Derek's hand and starts tugging him towards the square.

 

Derek tries not to feel disappointed when Stiles drops their hands once they reach one among many Halloween themed booths.

 

Said booth has a large rocking chair positioned behind a table with mounds of Halloween sweets spread on top. An old lady is sitting in the rocking chair, dark skin and long gray hair parted and woven into two braids down her front. She smiles brightly when they appear, Stiles quickly returning it for one of his own dazzling smiles. 

 

“You have to try this stuff, dude," Stiles gives him a serious look, "Ethel is a genius.”

 

'Ethel' chuckles warmly and swats at Stiles' hand, “You only say that because I have _years_ worth of embarrassin' stories held over your head.”

 

Stiles makes an indignant noise and clutches his chest. “I would _never-_ Ethel, I'm hurt by your accusations.”

 

“Oh, I'm sure,” she mumbles with a teasing eyeroll, and turns to Derek. "Now, who's this handsome young man?”

 

As if on cue, Stiles claps Derek on the shoulder and grins proudly, “This is Derek, I'm paying him back for playing host to me during midterms last week.”

 

Ethel hums and reaches her hand out to Derek, he slips his hand out of his pockets to accept the hand shake.

 

“That's a nice thing you done,” she tells him, “Sometimes this boy needs help but don't always accept it.”

 

“Do too!” Stiles affirms indignantly, pouting his bottom lip childishly. The corner of Derek's lip twitch, he can't help but find it incredibly endearing how he interacts with this little old lady.

 

Stiles turns to Derek and explains, “Ethel used to watch me after my mom died."

 

It shocks Derek for a moment - that Stiles would come right out and tell him something so big. Maybe it's just how he is – Derek hasn't known Stiles to keep his mouth shut about much - yet something inside Derek yearns for the possibility that Stiles _trusted_ him enough to tell him.

 

Ethel chuckles again. It's the type of laugh saved for reminiscing memories. “Damn kid talked and talked like he didn't need a breath, ate like he was a walkin' black hole.” Her eyes hold the joy of Stiles' youth, her eyes fond. “But he hugged like there was no hurtin' in the world, smiled like his heart was made o' gold.”

 

Derek catches Stiles' blushing face out of the corner of his eye, heart throbbing at the look of requited fondness apparent on his face.

 

Stiles in turn is looking at the floor, possibly out of embarrassment. “I _had_ to pay you in hugs, or you wouldn't let me have any cookies.”

 

Ethel raises an eyebrow, makes an 'mhmm' sound like she isn't completely buying it. “Anyway, take what you like,” she sweeps her hand over the goodies that are set out. “Damn Nelson boys will probably be by to snatch some anyway.”

 

“If that happens just give me a shout,” Stiles tells Ethel with a serious look, “I'll come and save you.”

 

“You'll be the first one I call."

 

Stiles grabs two of the sweets that look like spiders and hands one of them over to Derek. Its arms and legs are pretzels and when Derek bites into the middle, the hard crunch of chocolate leads way to a gooey caramel center. Derek makes a delighted noise and Stiles nods his head vigorously, as if he has all the understanding in the world for the mouth-gasm currently going down on Derek's tongue.

 

Stiles waves at Ethel as they step away from the booth. Derek doesn't miss when he leaves some money on the table.

 

~○~

 

They stop at practically every booth they pass as they make their way around the square. By noon, Derek has made a candle with his own two hands, watched as Stiles bobbed for at least seven apples, and picked out a pumpkin so tiny he could fit it in his pocket. Stiles thought it was cute.

 

Derek pays for their lunch, much to Stiles' dismay.

 

“ _You can't pay for lunch! I'm supposed to be paying_ you _back, remember? You buying us corn dogs just completely counteracts the reimbursement-clause.”_

 

“ _Reimbursement-clause.”_

 

“ _Yeah, it's totally legit, I had it drafted in a word document when Scott ditched me to sex his girlfriend for the eight thousandth time.”_

 

They eat their greasy corn dogs on the large concrete steps that lead to the museum set in the center of the square. It's one of Derek's favorite places to go; the museum doesn't get much tourist attraction anymore, so the only people that come around are either here for festivals, or to eat on the steps like they are.

 

“You think _that's_ bad,” Stiles is saying through a mouthful of food, “I once had to go an entire day with a rip in my jeans because my dad couldn't leave work to bring me some new ones.”

 

Derek laughs heartily from where he's leaning his elbows on the steps behind them. He had handed his second corn dog to Stiles after finishing his first, figuring he'd appreciate it more than Derek would.

 

“I once fell in the duck pond on the way to school, but we didn't have time to run back home," Derek says. "The only clothes they had at the nurse's office was a pink power puff girl shirt and some shorts.”

 

Stiles covers his mouth in horror, “Don't tell me you wore that for the rest of the day.”

 

Derek shakes his head, “Of course not. My sister Laura also had me carry around her pink purse because it matched my outfit more than hers.”

 

Stiles presses his lips together in an attempt to muffle his laughter, “You poor thing.”

 

“It was kindergarten.”

 

Stiles leans over to pat his knee. “That explains _so_ much.”

 

Derek pushes him on the chest, causing Stiles to fall backwards on one of the steps; its only real affect is causing Stiles to laugh harder. 

 

-

 

By the end of their day out, the two of them have accomplished an impressing feat of activities:

 

Derek has smelled every candle that Stiles has, which is to say, every candle in the square. (Mostly because once Stiles had lifted one to his nose - and made an obscene noise deep in his throat - he would then hand it over to Derek to whiff. Derek could've easily gotten away with refusing to sniff the fiftieth variation of holiday scented wax, but instead he'll have the lingering scent of pumpkin nestled in his nose hairs for, possibly, ever.)

 

Derek has tried on mask after mask and begrudgingly allowed Stiles to take a few pictures. He even let Stiles drag him over to a man wearing a Batman costume so that they could get a 'selfie' with him.

 

Derek bought Stiles a mug that says ' _bone appetite_ ' and Stiles buys him a hideous sweater purely for the reason that he finds the stitched ' _boofriend_ _material_ ' on the front to be hilarious.

 

Derek can't remember the last time he smiled so much in one evening.

 

They're walking down the sidewalk when Stiles disappears from Derek's side to swiftly spring onto his back. Derek quickly masks his surprise by automatically wrapping his arms around the gangly legs that come forward; Stiles wraps his arms around his neck and peeks his head forward to speak directly in Derek's ear.

 

“Let’s go to the face painting station, I wanna see you with some whiskers.” Derek tries not to shiver as Stiles' breath ghosts over the shell of his ear.

 

Derek shakes his head, causing his ear to rub against the soft tufts of Stiles' hair, “I'm not letting a stranger paint my face, Stiles.”

 

“Don't be like that!” Stiles protests, but all Derek notices is that his crotch is rubbing against Derek's back as he lifts himself when he starts to slip. Derek very, _very_ pointedly averts his attention “With cute little kitty whiskers, the kids might stop running away whenever they see your face!”

 

Derek tightens his hold around Stiles' legs and quickly twirls in a few circles as retaliation. He doesn't know if he can regard it as a victory when it only causes Stiles to scramble to hold on to his neck and tighten his legs around Derek's hips as he laughs out in surprise.

 

Derek does end up walking them both over to the face painting station, but only because he's curious how Stiles will look with an orange pumpkin on his face. That's the only reason.

 

~○~

 

“I'm making an executive decision,” Stiles declares as they walk back to the coffee shop, turning to walk backwards in front of Derek, “That you should never be without painted black whiskers, and a painted pink nose.”

 

Derek huffs his amusement, “Yeah, because fake cat features is what I was missing in life.”

 

Stiles smirks, “Among other things.”

 

They reach the coffee shop then, stopping at the door. The lights are all off and the 'closed' sign is hung in the window; Derek is sure Cora wasn't happy about having to close up on his appointed day.

 

Derek shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Thanks,” he says, “I had fun.”

 

Stiles smiles up at him, head tilted slightly, “You're welcome, I'm glad it wasn't completely torturous.”

 

Derek doesn't want the night to end. Doesn't want it to be the weekend because that means he'll have to wait till Monday to see Stiles again. So he clears his throat and says what he's been working up to all night: “Me and my family kinda have this tradition. The day before Halloween we roast marshmallows in our backyard.”

 

Stiles' eyes look hopeful. “An admirable tradition for sure."

 

“You should come," Derek says, maybe a little too eager. He adds: "If you'd like."

 

“Yeah,” Stilessays and huffs a small laugh, “I'd like that.”

 

~○~

 

Derek is just taking the Wilton hemisphere pan out of the oven when he hears the front door open and close, signaling Laura's arrival.

 

Derek can hear plastic bags rustling as she walks, and when she makes her way through the arch-way connecting the living room to the kitchen, she holds the bags in the air and wiggles them.

 

“I brought marshmallows!” She sing-songs, and Cora lets out a gleeful squeal from where she's standing by the sliding glass door. She sets the lawn chairs she had been moving to the backyard down and practically jumps on Laura's back.

 

Laura laughs cheerfully as Cora presses a big kiss to her cheek and squeezes her tight.

 

“You didn't have to bring marshmallows,” Derek says as he takes off the oven mitts, sets them on the counter by the stove. “We already bought five bags.”

 

Laura rolls her eyes and walks over to kiss Derek's cheek. He has to bend down so she can reach his face, considering Cora is still leeched on her back.

 

“I wanted to contribute,” Laura says. “It's the first Halloween where I actually have the money and don't have to steal the marshmallows from Mrs. Levy.”

 

Derek snorts, and Cora brings her head around to rest it on Laura's shoulder.

 

“It's a good thing you did,” she gives Derek a mischievous smile, “Derek invited a friend of the male gender.”

 

In between the delightful spark in Laura's eyes, she gasps loudly and snaps her gaze towards Derek. “Could it be?" She asks in a mockery old western accent. "An eligible suitor, finally come 'round for our brother?”

 

Cora snickers and drops back down onto the floor. She straightens to get herself in character, and pitches her own voice to match Laura's. “It's gotta! The lusty eyes the two throw around each other has to mean _somethin'_.”

 

Laura hums, a coy smile spreading across her lips. A moment passes. Then: “Is he amiable?”

 

Derek groans.

 

Cora clutches Laura's arm, barely concealing her laughter. “Is he handsome?”

 

"He's _single?”_

 

Two pairs of eyes stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish the scene.

 

He only holds out for three seconds before grumbling, “I believe so.”

 

His sisters erupt in squeals and jump up and down, before finally erupting in laughter.

 

“You're not watching Pride and Prejudice while you're visiting,” he tells them both authoritatively, pointing an accusing finger at Laura. “At all.”

 

“Don't be like that,” Laura whines, finally coming around to wind her hands around his middle so her head rests squarely on his chest. “We always used to watch it together.”

 

“Cora _still_ makes me watch it with her,” Derek mutters, hugging her back. Laura out stretches her hand upon hearing that, and Cora slaps it in a hard high five. “It's good to have you back, Laura.”

 

Laura pulls away from Derek, flashing a big smile up at him, “It's good to be back.”

 

~○~

 

He's just putting the finishing touches on the treats he spent a good portion of the evening making when the doorbell rings. He's suddenly feeling a spark of anticipation, and a little bit of horror when he hears the unmistakably steps of Laura heading to the door.

 

He hears Laura say, “Hi! You must be Derek's wet dream- I mean friend,” before he's stumbling out of the room to get to the front door. “Ahh, Dery Berry!” Laura greets when he comes around the corner.

 

The first thing Derek see's of Stiles is the grin that spreads upon hearing his nickname. The second is his outfit.

 

He's wearing another beanie, only this time it's gray like the hood on his denim jacket, which is wrapped around his body like a present. His glasses are perfectly in place and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his black skinny jeans. They’re nice, but Derek would find them nicer if they were thrown across the room.

 

He does look like a wet dream, but he would never admit that to Laura.

 

Belatedly he realizes that he's probably being as subtle as a gun, and if the shit eating grin plastered on Laura's face is anything to go on, he isn't wrong. Though, when his eyes reach Stiles' face, he's doing the same thing, taking in Derek's bare feet, the pair of threadbare jeans he only wears at home, the dark green sweater he has rolled up to his forearms.

 

Laura clears her throat pointedly, Derek blinks and looks down at her.

 

“Well I'm Laura, you must be Stiles,” she holds out her hand and Stiles takes it immediately. “I'm going to go see if Cora needs help taking marshmallow inventory.” With one last, conspiratory look, she pats Derek's chest and saunters away.

 

“Sorry about that,” Derek says, smiling softly as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his loose jeans. They sink slightly to reveal the jut of his hips. Stiles' gaze flickers down to the waistband of Derek's pants, his tongue flicking out between his closed lips before raising his gaze to meet Derek's.

 

“Don't worry about it,” he reassures, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he nibbles at his bottom lip. Derek wonders if it's subconscious when he does that, or if he just enjoys contributing to Derek's growing insanity.

 

“Just so you know,” Derek starts, moves out of the way so Stiles can step into the house, “Laura isn't going to let you leave unless you eat at least a whole bag of marshmallows.” 

 

~○~

 

 

“Ok ok,” Cora says after plopping a charred marshmallow in her mouth - she prefers the burnt taste, or just doesn't want to admit what a shitty marshmallow roaster she is. “We used to spend _hours_ playing with those life sized stuffed bunnies mom and dad got us for Christmas, remember?”

 

“I remember they were life sized when we were all pre-pubescent,” Laura says from across the fire pit, her rolla twisting slowly at the edge of the flames – her marshmallows always end up being the best. “Now they would probably compare to Derek's arms,” she punctuates her words by chucking a marshmallow at him. He catches it and pokes it on his own rolla.

 

Cora turns to Stiles. “The three of us used to play with those bunnies for _hours_ on the stairs landing,” she explains, her marshmallow once again catching fire due to her lack of attentiveness. Resigned, she flings it into the fire. “Derek and I would stand at the railing while Laura was below the balcony, and Derek-” a splurge of laughter interrupts her story, and she takes a moment to compose herself which gives Stiles just enough time to shoot Derek an excited grin. Derek rolls his eyes, can't help but smile back. “He used to sing that Bonnie song, you know it?”

 

Stiles nods his head, actually scooting closer to Cora as she tells the story, “Except he thought the words were 'bunny' instead of 'Bonnie.'” Laura supplies, a reminiscence smile playing at her lips.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Cora says and waves her rolla in Laura's direction, “So we would hold the bunnies over the balcony and swing them back and forth while he sung,” she clears her throat, “ _My bunny lies over the ocean, my bunny lies over the sea, my bunny lies over the ocean_ -”

 

“And then we would throw the bunnies down to Laura.” Derek interrupts because no one needs to hear Cora sing.

 

“Yeah but not before you would sing, ' _bring back my bunny to me_.'” Cora manages to say before she's just a mess of giggles.

 

“And did you bring back their bunnies?” Stiles asks Laura with innocent eyes, Derek snorts and ducks his head to peek out at his marshmallow in front of him.

 

“Oh I brought 'em,” Laura nods, tugging the golden shell of her marshmallow off and throwing it in her mouth, “I would run so fast up and down those stairs.”

 

Stiles is laughing now, as well is Cora. Derek smiles, because the feeling in his chest is a warmth completely made out of what feels like home, what feels like comfort and safety.

 

Derek focuses on the long expanse of Stiles' neck from where he's thrown his head back, the flicker of the flames illuminating his skin with a golden warmth. It makes Derek's throat suddenly run dry.

 

“That's nothing compared to the woodchuckchuck rap you and Laura used to perform for guests,” Derek says.

 

Laura makes a sudden indignant noise, and Cora chucks her charred marshmallow at his head.

 

“Don't you dare tell that story!” Laura threatens as she moves to the edge of her seat.

 

“I don't know,” Stiles starts, “I kinda wanna hear this.”

 

A cheeky smile spreads across Derek's face as he turns to Stiles, who's turning to Derek and leaning his hand on his chin, pressing his lips together to conceal his laughter.

 

“Well,” Derek starts, before both of his sisters are out of their seats and making for his chair. When they topple him over Derek catches sight of Stiles, who is laughing heartily, and has a fond look in his eyes.

 

~○~

 

They come in once thunder clouds begin to roll into the sky.

 

“I have something for you,” Derek whispers in Stiles ear as he moves past him into the house.

 

Stiles is close enough that they're chests brush. “Yeah?”

 

“Is it your dick?” Laura shouts as she leaves the room to go upstairs - Cora and her have plans to watch Pride and Prejudice.

 

Stiles nearly chokes to death and Derek contemplates the pros and cons of burying his sister under the apple tree.

 

Instead he just rolls his eyes and grabs Stiles' hand, who has a well spread blush starting as his cheeks and bleeding under his shirt.

 

Derek averts his gaze because there are more pressing matters at hand. He was doing something, wasn't he? Right, the thingy, for Stiles, for whom he made the treats.

 

Stiles' steps stutter when he spots them.

 

“No,” he breathes, letting his mouth hang open. They should have a talk about that particular mannerism. Maybe they will after Stiles is done smacking the back of his hand against Derek's chest, “How did you _know_?”

 

Derek raises an eyebrow, then pointedly picks up the red and yellow scarf and drags his fingers down it, Stiles makes a noise of understanding.

 

“And your ring tone is the Harry Potter theme song.”  

 

Stiles laughs like this is the most amazing thing to ever happen to him, which, Derek appreciates, but they're just cauldron cakes. Didn't even take that long to make.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” he says once the laughter subsides, “You are _so_ a closet nerd!”

 

Derek opens his mouth, closes it. “I am _not_.”

 

Stiles just nods his head, his smile teasing, “I bet you have a whole Harry Potter box set stashed somewhere in your room!”

 

Derek purses his lips, “Actually, it's a Lord of The Rings box set.”

 

Stiles' mouth silently falls open, and then he's surging forward to slot their mouths together. Derek is so taken aback that he falls backwards against the counter, Stiles quickly following after him.

 

The noise that comes out of Derek is surprised and hungry; it's not a moment later that he has one hand sliding into Stiles' hair, the beanie falling to the ground, and the other fisting in the back of Stiles' jacket.

 

For a few blissful moments it's nothing but filthy, desperate groping of mouths, feels like they're both trying to press themselves inside one another just by their lips alone. Stiles' hands are cupping Derek's face as he works his tongue into Derek's mouth, the slick slide of tongue on tongue enough to drive the heat building under Derek's skin. Then Stiles is sliding one of his hands down Derek's neck, down his chest and abs and pushing the soft fabric of Derek's sweater up.

 

There's the hot press of Stiles' hand sliding up Derek's stomach before Derek is gripping Stiles' hips and avidly pushing him backwards, walking the two of them blindly across the kitchen until they're against the far wall. Their lips stay locked the entire time. Once Stiles' back hits the surface he's dislodging their lips with a moan.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles whispers, wrecked as Derek moves on from his mouth. He kisses along his jaw until he can nip at the hinge, sucking Stiles' earlobe in between his lips before licking up to the spot where jaw meets neck.

 

Derek slips his thigh in between Stiles' own, who's more than happy to spread his legs to allow the press against his groin.

 

Derek can't help but press his nose to Stiles' pulse point, making a broken noise.

 

“You smell so fucking good, Stiles,” he whispers, and Stiles is grabbing at his hair, his back, as Derek ghosts his lips over that sweet spot before ducking to suck a merciless hickey. Stiles' hips shamelessly grind forward, private little noises, Derek's _name_ , emitting from his mouth as his hands leave their previous post to reach down for Derek's belt.

 

“You need to be wearing less clothes,” Stile decides, “You shouldn't even _own_ clothes,”

 

Derek can relate.

 

“Could say the same for you,” he huffs, kisses over the hickey as he reaches down to help Stiles. Which is when the lights shut off and a flash of thunder and lightning sounds outside the screen door.

 

It doesn't deter them, and soon enough both Derek and Stiles' belts and pants are undone. Stiles turns his head so that their mouths can slot back together. He nips and sucks on Derek's bottom lip, and Derek can't help but groan at the sight of Stiles' red swollen lips when he finally pulls away. He makes the decision that there are still far too many pieces of clothing in this situation.

 

He grips the flaps of Stiles' jacket. Stiles gets the idea and helpfully pulls away from the wall so that it can slide off. Next to go is Derek's shirt, which was impatiently shoved up under his armpits as Stiles ordered him to, “Off, take it _off_ , don't you know how shirts work?”

 

Derek would love more than anything to return the favor, but then Stiles is leaning forward and pressing his lips to the junction where Derek's neck meets shoulder. Derek groans and lets his head fall back, allowing Stiles to kiss up the length of his neck, sucking right under Derek's jaw before making his way back to the junction. When he gets there, Derek feels the press of blunt teeth dig into his skin, Stiles mouthing at the muscle as Derek falls forward, pressing Stiles back against the wall as he makes a noise akin to a whine.

 

Stiles' hands slip into the backs of Derek's pants as his mouth works at his neck, Derek can't help the way his hips are rocking forward into the friction Stiles' hips give him.

 

Stiles finally relents and pulls away with an obscene noise coming from deep in his throat, Derek doesn't hesitate to rip the white tee over Stiles' head even though they're so close Stiles is almost smacks him with one of his limbs. Once the tee is discarded somewhere on the floor, he slowly rakes his eyes up and down Stiles' chest.

 

His thumbs press hard at Stiles' hips, before his hands are moving up the flat expanse of his stomach, pressing his hands against Stiles' chest as he leans to whisper in Stiles' ear, “You're gorgeous.” His voice is as rough as he'd expect, and maybe a little manic. Stiles huffs a laugh, tugs Derek's hips forward to meet his own so he can control the teasingly slow grind of their erections.

 

“I'm gorgeous?” Stiles asks breathlessly, “Have you looked at yourself?” Derek has to move his hands back to Stiles' hips, has to guide him forward as their hips slide, denim against denim.“I can't _stop_ looking at you,” he admits, “Can't stop thinking about you,” he brings his lips to Derek's ear, “Nothing else gets me _off_ anymore, fuck, Derek, only the thought of what you could do to me-”

 

Stiles is interrupted by the growl that rumbles out of Derek's chest, and then he's bearing Stiles down on the ground by the wall in a flash of movement.

 

Stiles yelps, but somehow makes it sound more aroused than startled. “We should have - take your pants _off_ \- been doing this _months_ ago, jesus,” Stiles pushes at the waistband of Derek's pants. Derek holds himself over Stiles with one hand bracketing Stiles' face, the other reaches down and helps with the whole pants removal.

 

“I didn't _know_ ,” Derek rasps once he's out of his pants, sitting back on his heels so he can get Stiles out of his pants as well.

 

“I bought you a sweater with a pun for  _boy_ friend material stitched on the front,” Stiles says in an exasperated and frantic voice, “How could you _not_ know?”

 

Derek doesn't get a chance to answer, because Stiles' pants are off now and Derek is coming back down on top of Stiles, forearms bracketing his face and it's all skin on skin and flushed heat and beautiful friction and Derek's brain has gone offline. Stiles gasps just as Derek cants his hips forward, lining their erections as he grinds down.

 

“I promise I'll be more attentive next time,” Derek grunts as Stiles' hands come around to squeeze Derek's ass, pulling him into the thrust each time.

 

“You – _fuck_ – better be.”

 

Derek thinks he could get drunk off this, off nothing more than the sound of Stiles' voice when he's completely coming undone. Derek looks down on Stiles as his hips move forward, both of their breathing coming stuttered and gruff.

 

Derek drops his head to lick at the beautiful jut of Stiles' collar bone, before kissing his way up his neck and connecting their lips again.

 

They both groan in appreciation against each other's mouths as Stiles brings one hand down to wrap around them both. It provides even more delicious friction and Derek gasps into Stiles' open mouth as he drags his hand up and down their lengths. It's not too long before the small noises Stiles is making turn more frantic and jarred, before he's gasping out a litany of curses and shouting Derek's name as his body bows upwards into Derek's. Derek isn't far behind.

 

Derek's forehead falls to rest on Stiles' shoulder as he catches his breath.

 

After he's rolled off of Stiles and is lying next to him on the floor, he realizes just how uncomfortable the floor really is, and feels sympathetic for Stiles' back.

 

“Sorry for throwing you down on the floor,” Derek manages, chest still rising faster than normal.

 

“You're sorr-” Stiles laughs, and it's a beautiful sound, “I'm all for the floor ravishing, trust me.” Derek turns to look at Stiles, and a warmness tugs his insides at the sight of him flushed and panting.

 

“Next time, we'll do this in an actual bed.”

 

“So there's going to be a next time?” He asks with a crooked smile.

 

Derek snorts and turns on his side, props his head up on his elbow. He lifts his other hand to brush a thumb across the apples of Stiles' cheeks. “Yes.” He moves his thumb over Stiles' bottom lip, “You have, _no_ idea how many things I want to do to you, Stiles.”

 

Stiles smiles dopily. “Like what?”

 

“Like,” Derek smiles, “Take you on a date, make you stupid Harry Potter treats, fuck you until you can't even scream.”

 

A spark of arousal flashes in Stiles' eyes, and he nods vigorously, “I'd definitely be up for all of those things.”

 

Derek chuckles and leans forward, just as the grandfather clock in the living room strikes twelve.

 

Stiles smiles. “Happy Halloween,” he whispers.

 

Derek seals the words with a kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Come tumble with me friends](http://raisesomehale.tumblr.com/)


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